


The Assassin's Heir

by assassins_heir (lykxxn)



Series: Assassin's Heir [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Heir, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Original Work
Genre: Assassins, Assassins' Guild, Brother-Sister Relationships, Daemons, Family, Fights, Flashbacks, Gen, Guards, Italy, Master Assassins, Minor Character Death, Obscurial, Obscurus (Harry Potter), Quidditch, Secrets, Thieves Guild, Torio you're holding the map upside down honey, Tourism, Venezia | Venice, secrecy, thieves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-11-11 08:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11144907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lykxxn/pseuds/assassins_heir
Summary: When Torio and Aquila Berkovich visit Venice, they don't expect to be pulled back into a Creed they swore was behind them. Guided by the Master Assassin Aurelia, as well as thieves Fiammetta and Giovanni, they learn what it truly means to be an Assassin, and the dangers that lie beneath the surface, slowly threatening to consume all of Europe.





	1. Thieves in Venice

**_Fiammetta_ **

‘Look at the stars tonight,  _piccino_ ,’ I murmur. ‘What do you think that one is?’

Giovanni cranes his head up to look, pulling away from me. His dæmon Rosalinda, in the form of a sheepdog, grumbles at the abrupt change in position. ‘I’m not sure. You’ve always been the astronomer, Fia.’ He pulls a strand of dark, wavy hair from his eyes.

‘I think it’s Leo tonight,  _fratellino_ ,’ I reply. ‘Like your star sign.’

‘Ah,’ he says, returning to his spot huddled up next to me, Rosalinda burying her head into his chest. It is, at least, a warm night. ‘Then that is Regulus, the bright one I can see?’ As he points to it, I nod.

We sit there, slumped under the canopy of the  _forno_ , silent. My dæmon Neptunus is in the form of a black rabbit, and he crunches his pink nose at Rosalinda curiously. When the baker comes tomorrow morning he and his greyhound dæmon will chase us down the street, call us “dirty rats” like the tailor did when we slept under  _his_ canopy, but we hardly have a choice. We sleep wherever we can. There’s a thieves’ guild here, but they’re not friendly with us, won’t let us in, not with Giovanni being what he is. They’re afraid he’ll bring trouble.

He’s hardly a danger if you keep him calm, keep him safe, try not to scare him.

‘When d’you think Aurelia will let us train?’ Giovanni asks, his voice low and hushed.

A group of slightly disgusted tourists and their dæmons walk past us, and I wait until they’re out of earshot before I reply. ‘We’ve got to find the twins first, you know that. Aurelia said they were coming to Venice soon.’

‘Can it be tomorrow?’ yawns Giovanni.

‘I hope so,’ I reply.

I dream of the day when we will sleep under a roof, in warm beds, and with full bellies. The day we find those twins is the day we finally have somewhere safe to live, where we will get three meals a day and never have to worry about being chased for sleeping under someone’s canopy or getting sick because we slept out in the cold or the rain.

* * *

 

‘Get out of here, dirty thieves!’

No sooner have I awoken, I feel the baker’s broom biting against my back. Giovanni is already halfway down the street, Rosalinda still in her sheepdog form, hot on his heels. Neptunus becomes a Siamese cat, spitting and hissing at the greyhound-dæmon.

‘Forget her,’ I hiss at him. ‘Let’s go!’

Neptunus relaxes slightly, following me as I hurry to catch up to Giovanni.

‘If I ever see you ‘round here again, I’ll call the guards and have them deal with you,  _stronza_!’ the baker yells.

We turn a corner and lean against the wall to catch our breaths. ‘ _Porca puttana_ ,’ I swear quietly.

Giovanni looks at me. ‘That was close,’ he whispers breathlessly. Rosalinda pants, and he reaches down to pet her. ‘But the guards, Fia …’

‘We can’t stay here,’ agrees Neptunus, in the form of a pigeon.

Rosalinda becomes a moth, and flies down the alleyway. ‘Three guards,’ she reports back. ‘An Agile and two Militia.’

‘If we act normally—’

I shush Giovanni. ‘I don’t like them. Best just wait until they pass.’

‘I’m hungry,’ murmurs Giovanni.

‘Oh,  _vaffanculo_! So am I, but I’d rather be hungry than in prison!’

‘They’d feed us in prison.’ There is a cheeky grin on his face.

I scowl. ‘I’m going to punch that disgusting little smirk right off your face if you carry on.’

Wisely, he shuts up. I wouldn’t  _actually_  punch him, but he doesn’t need to know that right now. I’m more concerned about the three guards that are patrolling. The two Militia we could outrun, but the Agile is more of a concern.

As the name suggests, Agiles are the fastest guards there are here. They’re good free runners, too, so even if we managed to make it onto the roofs, he’d follow us.

The Militia are easy. They’re easily fought, easy to run away from, easy to fool, and they’re useless as shit at free running.

Then there’s the Elites, and although they’re not fast like the Agiles, they’ve got strong armour and I haven’t seen one run away from a fight yet. According to Niccolò, one of the Assassins we met at Aurelia’s hideout in Cittàsegreto, though, they’re not as strong as the Leaders, who have full-face armour like knights.

The strongest of all the guards are the Brutes and Seekers. They’ve both got a shit ton of armour, and Niccolò said they’re difficult to disarm. The Seekers carry long spears and if you’re hiding from them, you’ve gotta hide pretty well because they nearly always find you.

I thank Jesus, God, Ezio Auditore, and anyone else who’s listening that we only have an Agile and two Militia to deal with.

‘The roofs?’ I suggest. It’s the only thing I can think of.

I want to avoid a fight right now.

If we can make it to the Rialto, we can find Niccolò. He’ll buy us something to eat.

I start climbing first, Neptunus flying to the top to check for any Archers.

‘Clear,’ he murmurs, landing on my shoulder.

The roof provides a clear view towards the Rialto. Looking ahead, I see the large square in front, where the guards are patrolling. Both Militia are talking, and the Agile is pacing with his tabby cat-dæmon. Did the baker warn them?

I take a right across the rooftops, jumping across from the top of where a bar is underneath, to the roof of a souvenir shop, Giovanni hot on my heels. When I look back, Rosalinda is a seagull.

We bound—and, in Neptunus and Rosalinda’s case, fly—across the rooftops until we reach the Rialto. Our descent is relatively easy, and we walk across the bridge, the morning air fresh and crisp.

We sit on a bench, and wait.

* * *

6 a.m. he comes, sits on the bench with us for a while whilst fingering a tattered book, and at 7 a.m. he takes us for breakfast.

We go to some café north of the Rialto, and neither Giovanni nor I can read the menu, so Niccolò orders us some toast, sausages and bacon.

I can’t help but notice that we look horribly out of place.

Niccolò is wearing a dark suit, his little coatimundi-dæmon curled around his neck, with a golden pocket-watch in his breast pocket. Meanwhile, Giovanni and I are clad in rags.

Niccolò must notice how uncomfortable we look, for he says, ‘Any news on the twins?’

‘No,’ I reply softly. ‘Must we find them before Aurelia will accept us?’

Niccolò purses his lips. ‘I’m afraid so. But it shouldn’t be long now. Hold on just a little longer,  _bambini_.’ He pulls out a small vial from his pocket, shakes up the purple-blue liquid inside, and hands it to Giovanni. ‘Take a little before you eat, and the rest after lunch,  _aquilotto_. That should contain the Obscurus for a little while.’

‘ _Grazie_ ,’ murmurs Giovanni, unscrewing the cap and taking a small gulp. Rosalinda, in her blue-tit form, seems to relax the second the liquid touches Giovanni’s tongue.

We eat heartily, and when we are finished it is nearing 9 a.m. Niccolò and the coatimundi-dæmon retreat over the Rialto, and Giovanni and I take quiet steps to the east.

Guards are patrolling now, but they pay no attention to us.

‘Something’s going on,’ says a goose-dæmon to her Brute. ‘I can feel it.’

 


	2. Tourists in Venice

**_Aquila_ **

 

I scowl, looking at Torio’s map for what must be the fifth time. ‘Are you sure we’re going the right way?’

‘I’m just doing what this stupid map says,’ he replies huffily. ‘It says the hotel’s down this way.’

‘Well, it clearly isn’t!’ I snap, and Angelo, in the form of a Siamese cat, brushes nervously against my leg. ‘Sorry. Are you sure you’re holding the map the right way up?’

‘Of course I am! I’m not  _ thick _ , Aquila.’

Pandora, his jackdaw-dæmon, squawks in agitation. ‘Why don’t we just ask someone?’ she suggests.

‘We’re tourists,’ explains Angelo, before I can get a word in. ‘We’re ten times more likely to get robbed or something.’

‘And I’m not risking that,’ I finish.

‘But we’re lost!’ protests Torio.

He’s right. We’re lost, hopelessly fucking lost. But I won’t admit it. I am too stubborn, and he knows it.

‘Maybe if  _ you  _ knew how to read a fucking map—’

‘Maybe if  _ you  _ got a map that was in fucking English I’d be able to understand it!’

‘You’re a piece of shit, Torio. We’re in Italy. All the fucking place names are Italian. Get over yourself.’

I wince as my brother furrows his eyebrows and focuses intensely on the map. All right, maybe that was a little harsh.

I am about to apologise when I feel a hand brush past me. Turning to apologise to whoever’s just bumped into me, I see a little flame of a person blaze down the street.

‘Fuck.’

Someone’s just robbed me.

I tear down the street after them, catching sight of a butterfly-dæmon with the …  _ girl _ ?

Girl. Right.

‘Stop!’ I yell in between breaths. Angelo, now in the form of a peregrine falcon, caws angrily. He swoops forward as we get closer to the pair and grabs the butterfly with his beak. The girl stops in alarm, almost reaching for my dæmon in a desperate attempt to get him to release hers.

‘Give me back my money,’ I say firmly. ‘Give it back and we’ll let him go.’

‘How do you know my Neptunus is a  _ he _ ?’ she sneers, but hesitantly holds out the purse. I take it from her and, with a wave of my hand, Angelo releases Neptunus.

I am about to walk away from her until she speaks, rather nervously I must admit; ‘Who’s it you’re with? Is he your brother?’

Odd question. ‘Yeah,’ I answer anyway. ‘We’re twins.’

The girl’s eyes light up. ‘Really? Oh, wow, I’ve been looking for a pair of twins actually!’

My brows furrow.

‘We’ve been told to look for a pair of twins, is what she means,’ squeaks Neptunus frantically. ‘If you take us to your brother, we can explain.’

‘Sounds dodgy,’ murmurs Angelo, and I nudge him.

‘Let’s just hear what they have to say,’ I counter. ‘She’s just a thief, what harm can it do?’

We walk back to where Torio is still stood, stunned. I shake my head, a smile daring to form.

‘So what is it?’ I ask, realising I’m going to have to translate for my dimwit brother, who’s never bothered to learn Italian, even though I’m fluent and, strangely, have been ever since I can remember.

‘The Master Assassin here is looking for twins,’ she admits, ‘and you fit the description.’

When I translate, Torio looks at me in alarm.

He’s right to be alarmed. We haven’t been associated with the Assassins for years; we were adamant that we didn’t want to be Assassins and Caleb, who’s raised us and taken care of us since we were tiny, accepted that.

‘You’re quite mistaken,’ I reply. ‘We’re not Assassins. We  _ were _ , but not anymore.’

‘Please, at least come with me.’ She sounds as though she’s pleading. ‘Me and my brother, we have nothing … if you at least come and see Aurelia she’ll give us some food and a place to stay. We’ll be safe then.’

I can’t help but feel sorry for her, but no matter how sorry I feel it does not make Torio and I Assassins. I pull out a ten-Euro note from my purse and hand it to the girl. ‘We won’t go with you, but at least, if you’re telling the truth, here’s some money.’

Immediately, the girl rejects the money, and Neptunus becomes a snarling, spitting tabby cat. ‘I don’t want your  _ charity _ .’

Oh. I put the note away in dejection. ‘I only wanted to help,’ I say quietly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Pandora turn her head, one of the ways she shows she’s angry without it being obvious.

‘There they are!’ comes a cry from behind us, and when I turn my head I see a Militia, three Agiles and a Brute heading our way.

Pointing right at us.

‘ _ Merda _ ,’ hisses the girl.

‘Just what I was thinking,’ I reply quietly. ‘What did we do?’

The Militia steps forward whilst the other guards stay back. His serval-dæmon slinks between his legs to meet Neptunus, who backs into the girl’s feet, frightened.

‘You  _ are  _ aware that for the past ten minutes you have been conversing with a criminal, right?’ he asks pleasantly. ‘And consequently, you are now  _ associated  _ with said criminal?’

At my quiet translation, Torio opens his mouth to say something, but I stand firmly on his foot. His jaw drops, preparing to cry out from the pain, but nothing comes out.

‘She’s not a criminal,’ I reply. ‘Just a street kid. She’s  _ harmless _ .’

The Militia scowls. ‘First you associate with this disgusting excuse for a human being, and now you  _ defend  _ her? She is not worth the risk, little girl. She and the rest of her kind will be wiped  _ clean off  _ the streets of Venice before long, let me tell you.’

I realise immediately what they intend to do. They’re going to provoke us so much that they’ll have no choice but to attack us.

And we’re weaponless, unless you count giving them papercuts with our map.

‘What would you like me to do? Leave her here?’ I snap back.

If we run, they’ll come after us. If we stay here, they’ll attack us. We’ve got literally no choice.

The Brute and his bobcat-dæmon step forward. The three Agiles nudge each other and move forward a little, and the second Agile’s mongoose-dæmon looks around nervously.

Angelo nudges me. ‘What’re you going to do?’ he asks, in English.

‘I don’t know,’ I admit.

The Brute draws his weapon, a Bastard sword, and I step back quickly.

‘I mean no disrespect,’ I say urgently.

It is at that moment I notice the girl has disappeared from behind us.

_ Fuck’s sake. _

She’s played us good. Now we’re for it.

But, just as the Brute swings the sword towards me, a figure flashes down upon him, stands up, and pulls himself off the Brute’s body.

Assassins.

He throws a sword to me and a dagger to Torio, and we begin duelling the alarmed guards, who were obviously not expecting retaliation, let alone an Assassin.

I see the thief girl above, followed by another Assassin clad in black. They take out two of the Agiles, including the one with the mongoose-dæmon just as I wrench my sword through the Militia’s chest. He crumples to the ground, as if he weighed no more than a piece of paper. Torio’s busy battling the other Agile, who seems to have confounded him. The new Assassin pulls out a shotgun and fires at his back. The Agile falls almost immediately and Torio steps back in surprise.

He’s still alive, judging by the way his polecat-dæmon is still writhing around.

The Assassin in black grins at us. ‘So you must be the twins, eh?’ He holds out a hand for me to shake. ‘I’m Benigno, and that’s Niccolò.’

Benigno’s dæmon is in the form of a raccoon dog, and she says, ‘I’m Rossa. I know he won’t introduce me.’

Angelo, in the form of a wolfhound, nods. ‘I’m Angelo.’

I nod towards my brother. ‘That’s Torio. He, uh, can’t speak Italian.’

‘No worries,’ Benigno assures me, and Niccolò finally stops talking to the girl long enough to say hello.

‘Will you come with us now?’ asks the girl.

I look to Torio, uncertain. ‘Do you want to go?’ I ask softly.

Torio shrugs. ‘Depends on you, don’t it?’

I sigh. Finally, I agree. ‘We’ll come. But if we don’t like it, we’re leaving.’

The girl grins. ‘Great! We’re just down the street. Are you good at free-running? We’ll go across the roofs; it’s faster that way.’

And she’s up and heading towards the rooftops before I have a chance to reply.


	3. The Hideout

**_Aquila_ **

****

The thief and the Assassins—or is she an Assassin too?—take us to a bar that’s mostly deserted this time of day. There’s an old drunkard sat on a barstool with a mallard-dæmon stood underneath the stool, looking as dazed as he is, and his dull eyes take a glance at us before returning to his wine. Niccolò clears his throat. ‘Let me alert Aurelia of your arrival. I’m sure she’ll want to talk privately.’

He approaches a tall painting of a dark-haired, hook-nosed man, partly covered by a red curtain. He pushes the curtain aside and the man clears his throat and says, in English, ‘Password.’

‘ _Astore_ ,’ replies Niccolò smoothly, and the portrait swings inward. He steps through and disappears, his little coatimundi-dæmon trotting afterward.

Benigno and Rossa approach the bar, and the barman, a pale, fair-haired boy of about seventeen, grins at him. ‘What can I do for you?’ The boy’s mouse-dæmon is resting comfortably on his shoulder. ‘The usual?’

‘Ah, no, no. Not today, Adalbert.’ He slouches up against the bar, just as Angelo’s tail brushes against the back of my leg. ‘But _dziękuję_. Just an iced water for me … and some cola for the kids.’

The Polish barman—not a man really; just a boy—beams back and promises he’ll get to it immediately.

I lean towards the girl and whisper, ‘So what is this place?’

‘Our hideout is basically disguised as a bar … it’s very popular with the Clex, you see. Everyone who works here is part of the Brotherhood. And the drunk guy—’ she points at him ‘—that’s Hans and his dæmon Isabel. Hans is our spy.’

‘So he isn’t an alcoholic?’ I ask, intrigued.

‘Oh, no, he _is_ , but because he’s always here he gets information from whatever he can hear the Clex say. When he remembers it, that is,’ she adds with a slight smirk.

‘Sorry … what’s the Clex?’

‘Oh!’ She claps a hand to her forehead. ‘The Clex are basically the bad guys. They have control of Italy now … run by Cardinal Charbonneau and Peltier and their lot.’ She shudders. ‘They’re his secret police, although they’re not so secret anymore. But the scary thing is, anyone could be part of the Clex. You’ve got to be careful what you say and where … and who you say it to. They’re everywhere. Those guards who threatened us? They’re run by the Clex. And they don’t like us thieves, or the Assassins, or the Templars. Or anyone, really.’

Benigno approaches us and hands me a glass of ice-cold cola, and then gives one to the girl, who thanks him quietly. Torio edges closer to listen.

The girl adds, ‘At night it’s packed in here, so we go in through the back entrance, where nobody can spot us; it’s a secret entrance … we need to show them the secret entrance, Benigno.’

Benigno lets out a low chuckle and puts his hood down, revealing a dark face and short, tightly curled, black hair. ‘Relax, Fiammetta. I’m sure Aurelia will go through everything with them.’

Niccolò reappears in the portrait-hole and beckons Torio and I closer. I put down my cola on the nearest table as we approach him. ‘She’ll be pleased to see you,’ pipes up the coatimundi-dæmon, for the first time since I’ve met him. ‘She’s been waiting a long time.’

‘ _Totto_ ,’ Niccolò admonishes gently. ‘Don’t. They must find out for themselves.’

‘Find out what?’ I demand, only to be met with twinkling of the Assassin’s mysterious eyes. I sigh sharply and follow Niccolò and Totto through the portrait-hole.

I suddenly find myself in a carpeted hallway that seems to go on forever. I smile to myself at the obvious use of magic.

‘Oof!’ I look back.

Torio has tripped on the way in and Pandora hurriedly flies up to avoid being crushed.

‘Idiot,’ we both mutter, and she gives me what I think is a smile. Niccolò looks concerned and Totto hisses something bad-naturedly about not being ready.

I place my hand warningly on Angelo’s back, feeling his hackles raise. Now is not the time or the place to pick a fight.

Niccolò knocks sharply on the first door we see, and a pinched voice tells him to enter. Is this the Master Assassin? I frown. She doesn’t _sound_ as if she could lead an army or a Brotherhood.

When I enter, I realise how wrong I am.

She stands behind a desk, in a long, trailing gown, looking positively regal. Her goshawk-dæmon perches on her shoulder, holding his head high.

I feel the almost overwhelming urge to bow to her.

Her hands are clasped together and her eyes dart from me to Torio hungrily, trying to see as much of us as possible. To her right stands a tall, chubby, spectacled man who smiles nervously, trying to ignore his dæmon, a fiery red monkey-like animal, who is pacing across his left shoulder blade.

‘Aquila,’ greets Aurelia, ‘and Torio.’

She is English, and that alone is enough to shock me into silence.

The door opens again, and a curly-haired man enters, gasping breathlessly. ‘Apologies, Mother. Training ran on longer than I thought.’

Aurelia purses her lips. ‘And this is Cesare, and my husband Joshua.’

She comes closer, the tail of her dress flowing behind her like the gentle flow of a quiet stream, a constant calm that cannot be bubbled or raged. She presses a hand to my cheek, almost urgently, and whispers fervently, ‘Dear child; dear, dear child. You have had a long journey. Fiammetta has done well. Yes, very well indeed … she has brought you back to me.’

‘Back?’ asks Angelo before I can voice my confusion.

‘Yes, yes …’ says the goshawk-dæmon.

‘ _Moss_ ,’ warns Joshua’s dæmon. ‘You need to explain to them. _We_ need to explain.’

Aurelia pulls her hand from my face, seemingly reluctantly, before glancing at Cesare.

I finally spot his dæmon, a bumblebee, hovering just in front of him. She looks like she’s spent a lot of time hiding in his pocket.

‘You’re—’ Torio breaks off, and Joshua, Aurelia and I stare at him, all confusion forgotten for a moment. Cesare smirks knowingly. ‘You’re _Il Falco_!’ he blurts out. ‘The Keeper for the Venetian Victors!’

‘Yes, I am,’ he replies calmly, still smirking. ‘But you can ask me about it later … I feel that this is a _private_ matter that takes priority.’ He glances towards Aurelia, and she nods sharply. He takes this as his cue to leave, and bids us farewell. The bumblebee-dæmon does not speak.

‘Please,’ says Aurelia calmly, ‘take a seat, _miele bambini_.’

The choice of words bewilders me. Why should such a distant and regal woman address us as her children?

We sit down nonetheless, on a grey sofa. Aurelia sits opposite in an armchair, Moss immediately resting on the arm.

‘Ren, do not look so frightened,’ he admonishes, not sharply as I would expect, but incredibly gently.

Joshua’s dæmon stills its pacing as the man sits next to Aurelia. There is an empty armchair, presumably belonging to Cesare, to Aurelia’s left.

‘Uh, miss … mrs … I think you’ve made a mistake,’ says Torio suddenly. ‘You called for twins and although we _are_ twins, I think we’re the wrong ones.’

‘We’re not Assassins anymore, you see,’ adds Angelo quickly.

Aurelia seems to consider this. ‘I know. I am aware you made the decision not to be Assassins, but I am hoping that you may … _reconsider_ , shall I say. You see, I _knew_ you were here. Caleb told me.’

‘You know Caleb?’ Torio blurts out in surprise. I try to school my features but the shock is all too evident on my face.

‘Know Caleb?’ Aurelia chuckles. ‘Caleb and I were old school friends. I asked him specifically to train you. Believe me when I say you are _exactly_ the twins Josh and I were looking for.’

‘You asked Caleb—’ Torio breaks off in confusion, but a piece of the puzzle seems to lodge in the right place for me.

‘The only way you’d know to ask Caleb to train us is if you knew _us_ too,’ I get out.

‘I’ve always known you,’ Aurelia says slowly.

‘We’ve been watching you for a long time,’ says Ren. ‘Caleb and Natalie have done well, haven’t they?’

‘Indeed,’ agrees Moss proudly.

‘There’s no easy way to say this, but we—and Caleb—have had to keep this secret for so long,’ Aurelia says, suddenly looking vulnerable, ‘and it’s been so long since we last saw you … but Joshua and I … we’re your parents.’

Torio looks elated.

Meanwhile, I am confused. I have spent nineteen years without a mother or a father, and they are not dead, or imprisoned, or ill. They are in Italy. They are safe and well.

‘You abandoned us?’ I question sceptically, as Angelo’s hackles raise once more. ‘I thought you were _dead_.’

I feel tears beginning to blur my vision as I storm from the room and further down the hallway. Scrubbing at my eyes Angelo trots behind me.

‘The nerve of it,’ he growls. ‘Fancy house, head of the fucking Assassins, and just leaving their children. Ridiculous. Honestly, just get out of here, I’d say. Be done with them.’

‘Oh,’ says a voice, and through my tears I am forced to look up and face whoever is speaking.

It’s Cesare, and I immediately want to bolt.

‘I take it that didn’t go so well, then,’ he says softly. ‘I know it must be pretty hard to stomach.’

‘She left us,’ I say bitterly. My tears seem to have been replaced with anger.

‘For good reason,’ says Cesare—he’s my _brother_ , I realise suddenly—softly. ‘She did it to keep you and Torio safe from the Clex.’

‘Why didn’t she leave you?’ demands Angelo.

The bumblebee-dæmon flitters about sadly, landing on Angelo’s nose. ‘Because by that time we were old enough to remember things. You knew nothing, and had no information you could give them.’

‘Calandra’s right,’ Cesare adds. ‘It was the only way we could keep you safe. We went into hiding, too, for a few years. That’s how we built up the Hideout.’

He frowns, releasing the Hidden Blade from its holster and then letting it spring back in. ‘My mother … she’s not all bad. Trust me on that one, OK?’

What other choice do I have at the moment? If the Clex were after us—and by Fiammetta’s description, the Clex are pretty bad—then I guess my mother must’ve done what any other mother would’ve done: anything to keep her children safe.


	4. Confrontation

**_Giovanni_ **

****

I am not sure what I expected of the training room. It looks as if it is in a different building altogether, with its high, domed roof and seemingly ancient bricked walls. To the left of me stands a crumbling statue of an assassin, one I cannot identify. Next to the statue are several dummies, presumably for target practice. The wall in front of me is a climbing wall that extends into free-running practice and goes up over my head. To my right, extending right across the wall, is nothing but weapons. Swords, throwing knives, blades, you name it. Slowly I begin to approach it, with Rosalinda, in the form of an Airedale terrier, padding softly behind me.

Slowly I reach out for a sword and pull it from its place. It feels right in my hands, like I was _born_ to use it; born to become an Assassin.

‘That one’s a little too big for you,’ says a voice, making me jump. Rosalinda whimpers loudly as the sword clatters to the floor, and I whip around. ‘Besides, it’s mine.’

The man, tall and muscular, looks at me curiously. He hasn’t made any move to yell or strike me, and he seems oddly uncaring about the fact that I’ve been holding—and have just _dropped_ —his sword. Instead, he looks as though he is taking in my appearance, so I jab Rosalinda with my foot.

He rubs his bearded chin with a rough, calloused hand. Curly hair makes its way down his face, stopping just short of his shoulders. His hood is down, and I can see every aspect of his face.

Which begs a question: why does he look so familiar?

_‘No, no, please! Please don’t! Not Giovanni! Take me instead, please, God … not Giovanni! Not him!’_

‘You.’ My voice cracks a little. ‘It was _you_.’

Rosalinda springs up and becomes a shepherd, hackles raised and an almighty growl threatening to spill from her throat.

The man’s dæmon—a bumblebee, I finally see—hovers in front of him, calm—which only serves to make me even more furious.

He’s a _murderer_ , and all he can do is stand here _calmly_?

‘You killed my father!’

He nods. ‘I do not deny it,’ he says finally, and when he speaks, his voice is soft. ‘But you must listen to me; you need to know _why_.’

‘I don’t care why!’ I yell at him. ‘You _murdered_ him, and my mother!’

For some reason, this provokes some sort of reaction. He raises a hand, almost _sadly_ , and says in a tired voice, ‘No, Giovanni. Not your mother. I would _never_ have laid a hand on Claudia.’

How does he know my name? But there is a more pressing matter:

‘You _liar_! You _killed_ her!’ Tears are streaming down my face, and yet neither of us have made a move yet. I should pick up the sword and kill him now, but I cannot move a muscle. There’s an odd, familiar swilling in my stomach that feels like trouble.

‘No, I didn’t,’ he replies. ‘Come on, _bambino_. You need to hear the truth. You were too young to understand what was going on—I had no other choice.’

Why am I listening to him?

Why am I letting this murderer get away with what he’s done?

He’s a liar _and_ a killer.

My stomach bubbles, almost as if I’m going to throw up.

But I know I’m not. I know what this really is.

‘You killed my _mare_!’

‘No … no, _bambino_ , it wasn’t me.’

_‘No, no, please! Please don’t! Not Giovanni! Take me instead, please, God … not Giovanni! Not him!’_

_Blood. So much blood. I gotta put it back in; gotta fix her. It’s OK. Mare’s gonna be OK._

_‘Ajuda’m … ajuda’m, si us plau …’_

‘Nardovino! Get Nardovino and Santoro down here! Now!’

What? Who was that?

Who are they?

‘OK … OK, _bambino_. I’ve got you.’

‘ _Ella està morint, ajuda! Si us plau; si us plau_!’

‘Santoro! We’re over here.’

‘The Obscurus?’

‘Niccolò?’

‘That’s me.’

‘ _Sì_ , I would think so.’

‘Let me—let me take him back.’

‘OK. Can you carry him, Nardovino?’

‘Yes, _Cesare_ , I can.’

And then, the voices go silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few translations this time:
> 
> ‘Ajuda’m … ajuda’m, si us plau …’ - "Help me ... help me, please ..."  
> ‘Ella està morint, ajuda! Si us plau; si us plau!' - "She's dying, help! Please; please!"


	5. The Medical Wing

**_Giovanni_ **

****

It’s horrendously bright when I wake up. Rosalinda is curled up at my feet, still in her shepherd form. I sit up a little, resting on my arm.

Where the hell am I?

‘Ah, you’re awake,’ says a voice, and I turn my gaze towards a desk, where a nurse is sat in a pristine white uniform. Her pointer-dæmon sits obediently at her feet. ‘I’ve administered a higher dosage of the potion your friend Niccolò has been giving you.’ She lowers her voice and adds, softly, ‘You gave us all quite a scare, _moço_.’

I flush a little, embarrassed. ‘I didn’t mean—’ I start, but an explanation seems futile. She already knows, anyway; or at least I hope so.

‘I know, _querido_. It’s not your fault.’ She stands up and approaches the bed, the pointer-dæmon trotting obediently behind her. She draws up a chair from next to the bed, sits again, and takes off her cap.

Rosalinda, much to my surprise, bounds off the bed and sniffs excitedly at the pointer-dæmon.

‘I’m Nurse Santoro,’ says the nurse, as if our dæmons are not almost uncomfortably close, ‘and this is my dæmon, Calanthe.’

‘Oh, I’m—’

‘I know who _you_ are, _querido_ ,’ she smiles, and suddenly I am struck with how _beautiful_ she is. Her hair, long and sleek, rests in a bob a touch above her shoulders, and her deep brown eyes stare into mine. She reaches a hand to touch gently on my arm, as if to say _you can trust me_.

And I do.

I _do_ trust her, strange as it seems.

Rosalinda settles into Calanthe’s side, the pointer-dæmon stiffening only slightly when I say, ‘You’re not Italian.’

‘No,’ says Nurse Santoro in what sounds like a regretful tone. ‘I’m Portuguese, actually. I came to Italy to study when I was eighteen, and I’ve been here ever since.’ She plasters a smile on her face. ‘We’re a little bit similar, you and me.’

But she doesn’t explain why, and I don’t push the subject. Instead, she stands up, returns back to her desk—I notice Calanthe doesn’t leave her position next to Rosalinda—and picks up a few vials of the purple-blue potion I recognise. This version of the potion is darker than the last, and Santoro shakes one of the vials before handing it to me.

‘Drink it all in one go,’ she says firmly, and watches me pull out the cork and drink the liquid. ‘Now, as for the others: these are emergency vials. Drink them if you think the Obscurius might make an appearance. You are to come here every day _without fail_ to take a dosage. _Capisco_?’

‘I understand,’ I reply, letting a hint of annoyance slip into my tone.

‘And watch the attitude, _moço_.’

I flush a little at her stern words. She sounds too much like a mother for her own good. ‘Who was that man?’ I ask in an attempt to change the subject. Rosalinda perks her ears up, and a growl sounds low in her throat.

‘Who you were arguing with?’

I nod.

‘That was Cesare. He’s Aurelia’s son.’

‘He killed—’

‘Don’t interrupt. He did not kill your mother. He was trying to tell you the truth. He was trying to _protect_ your mother. And you, too.’ Santoro looks at me with an air of despondency. ‘But he was too late to save your mother, and he did what any other newly-inducted eighteen-year-old would do: he panicked.’

‘Protect us?’ I ask in confusion. ‘From who?’

‘Oh, _querido_ … from your _father_. He betrayed us all.’ She shudders, and my eyes widen in bewilderment. Calanthe slinks away from Rosalinda and nuzzles Santoro’s leg comfortingly.

‘I don’t understand,’ I get out.

‘I’m sorry,’ she replies. ‘That’s all I know. If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask Cesare.’

‘I always thought—’ but I stop. She already knows what I’m about to say. Anyone with a fraction of a brain does.

I always thought he was innocent and could never do anything wrong. Who wouldn’t? He’s my father, and fathers are good. Fathers tuck you in at night and read bedtime stories, or they take you out fishing and carry you home on their shoulders. Fathers are heroes, not monsters.

But then, that begs another question:

_Who killed my mother?_


End file.
